Must Not Fail
by walkersystem
Summary: Malcolm has to be a success. There is no other option. Or is there?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Pressure. It clouded his mind and constricted his chest. His parents' words circled in his mind going faster and faster as if they were racing. "This family's only chance… genius… straight A-s…" A little seed of guilt planted itself in his heart. They were so confident that he would go far… but what if he failed? What if he ended up like Francis, holed up in Alaska trying to hide from his parents' wrath? He didn't want to fail his parents.

Malcolm flipped the switchblade over in his hands. One little cut and he would never fail. But he would also never succeed. Was he really willing to throw everything away? His breath was now coming in short gasps as pressed the silver blade against his wrist. "No more pressure, no more anything." He whispered. It would be so easy…

He wondered who would find him if he went through with it. Would it be Louis or Hal? Reese or Dewey? Malcolm shuddered at the thought of one of his brothers finding him. Dewey would be scarred for life. Applying a miniscule amount of pressure, Malcolm made a thin line of blood appear. He stared at it transfixed. His breathing sped up even more. The cutting didn't even hurt! He had to go through with it, Malcolm decided. This way he would never have to think again.

Not about his family, not about grades… Everything would be perfect. Just a little more pressure. Malcolm started to saw at his wrist, desperately trying to draw more blood. Back, forth, back, forth, until his entire wrist was coated in the wonderful scarlet liquid. He didn't even notice when it began to drip onto the bedroom floor.

A sudden noise caused his head to jerk up and his eyes landed on the door. Someone had rung the doorbell. "Francis!" Malcolm heard Dewey cry out. Francis was home? Malcolm looked at his red wrist, shame suddenly engulfing him. What would Francis think when he saw this? He noticed that the blood was starting to flow faster, and darkness started to overtake the edges of his vision. No! He didn't want to die! He wanted to live, to see his brother! Malcolm dropped the switchblade and desperately pushed down on his wrist. Have to stop the bleeding, have to stop the bleeding. Come on, come on!

"It's not working!" He sobbed. There was now a decent sized stain on the carpet, and his entire arm had a sticky coating of blood. "NO!" Malcolm's life was slipping away and there was nothing he could do stop it. Darkness now engulfed him and he succumbed to it. There was no other option. The last thing he ever heard was his brother's footsteps and the door opening…


	2. Chapter 2

"Francis!" The eldest Wilkerson son smiled as two of his younger brothers came racing up to him, bubbling with questions. "Why are you here? How did you get here? Any hot girls in Alaska? How long are you staying?"

"Guys, slow down." Francis laughed. Reese took a step back to let Francis through the doorway while Dewey jumped up and down in his excitement. Just like a little kid, Francis mused. Dewey was getting older. It wouldn't be long before everyone would have to stop calling him little. Francis was jerked out of his thoughts by a scream. It was a desperate, pain-filled noise that rattled inside his brain, storing itself forever in his darkest memories. Reese froze, then turned his head slowly in the direction the animalistic sound had seemed to come from. Dewey's jumps slowed, then stopped altogether, as he too realized where the source of the scream resided.

Their room. The room they shared with Malcolm, who had yet to make an appearance all day, instead deciding to hole up with his thoughts in that dismal, clutter-filled living space. Francis ran. He hurdled over the clutter that seemed to pop up out of nowhere and raced to his brothers' room. Malcolm had screamed. Malcolm, the smart one. Malcolm, the family's only hope. Malcolm, the boy everyone had ignored all day, no one going into the room to check on him. After all, what could be wrong with Malcolm? He was a genius, had plenty of friends (however nerdy they may be), and was given constant praise from their parents.

Malcolm was the favorite. Everyone knew but no one had ever dared to voice it. Francis and Reese were screw-ups and Dewey had never quite grown out of the 'paste eating' stage. Malcolm was a genius. A true diamond in the rough. Special. All these thoughts raced through Francis' head as he grasped the doorknob like it was his lifeline, and with a shaking hand, turned it. But he couldn't quite gather the courage to push. To open the door and witness the horrors which surely lay behind it.

Good old Reese. It was he who came barreling up beside Francis. It was him who shoved open the door and stumbled into the dark room. It was him who let out the second scream of the night. It was an incredibly girly one which would have been endlessly mocked under any other circumstances. But for now, Francis could only concentrate on the blood. Its disgusting smell wafted out the door to infest the other parts of the house. It covered the floor. A big scarlet stain among the other multi-colored ones that littered the once pristine carpet.

Francis took a step forward. He was no longer inside his body. He was floating, looking down on himself. He watched as his body slowly approached the crumpled heap on the floor. He listened as Dewey began to cry, the terror of the moment finally beginning to sink in. He tried to look away but it was impossible. His sight could not be torn away from the pitifully small being on the floor. It was incredibly pale and drenched in the sticky liquid that used to keep it alive.

Reese was throwing up in the shared bathroom, his tough demeanor no longer mattering. Dewey had collapsed and was sobbing into his hands, no longer concerned with looking like a baby in front of the brother he worshipped. The brother whose body was eerily calm. No crying, no screeching, no emotion of any kind flickered across the stone face. It stared down at the failure on the floor. Yes, he had failed. Not because he didn't get straight A's. He did. Not because he didn't get into an amazing college. He would have. But because he had failed to survive. The most basic of all accomplishments.

Francis' body picked up the failure and laid him on his bed. The body began to tremble as the enormity of what had just occurred suffocated his detached brain. His little brother was dead. Malcolm had killed himself. It did not appear that he left anyone a letter. He had no one to say goodbye to. No one to live for.

**AN-** Well the ending is sucky but I hope everyone enjoyed the second and final chapter of this story. Thanks goes to all of my persistent reviewers who suggested I make another chapter to this.

Special thanks goes to Mai Ascot who wrote an even better suicidal!malcolm fic that was based off of the first chapter of this one. (Mai, it really is a thousand times better. ) If anyone wants to read it it's called 'Malcolm No Longer in the Middle'. Sorry, but I'm not sure how to post a link to it.


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